A Smoking Gun and The British Government
by Unquestionably Unhinged
Summary: "I can tell we'll have a delightful time together Miss Gladstone." "Please, call me Margaret." "Mycroft." he stated thoughtfully as he pulled out a syringe. "Is that your name or the needle's?" He smiled amusedly as he brought the needle to her neck. "Goodnight Miss Gladstone." MycroftxOC
1. The Magic of Bobby Pins

**I'm not even going to try to explain myself. What happened with the other one was that I had no real direction as to where the story was going, and no real plot. So I kinda just...left it. BUT as I've recently been told to get off my butt and finish it (in so many words, thank you Dis da Geek) I decided to actually rethink the story and I now have a steady plot idea and am ready to get back into it. Though I had to restart the chapters and chuck some ideas from the other story because that was a loooong time ago and I can definitely write better than that now. So here's the first chapter and I promise I won't make you wait two years again. Ehehe.**

 **I love you all!**

 **Disclaimer: I only own Margaret**

* * *

The Bank of England stood tall and proud in the thick fog that threatened to take over the city. It was still early in the morning and London had yet to awaken. A figure stood alone and imposing on the steps outside the large building, her face was riddled and pale with anxiety.

Her black boots clicked against the stone as she skipped down as fast as she could, pulling her grey cap over her dark green eyes. She blended into the fog rather nicely with her dark grey coat and hat covering her bright red hair. The small woman kept her head down as she reached the bottom step, quickly snapping her eyes back and forth down the mist filled streets.

Once she was satisfied that no one was following her, she turned, continuing down the sidewalk at a steady if not paranoid pace. Her eyes widened at the sight of two men in suits leaning lazily against the building walls a little ways in front of her.

Her foot pivoted and she whirled around, quickly changing directions only to be faced with two more suits, these two slowly making their way towards her. A screech rang out and she had just enough time to see a black car roll up onto the curb before something hit her sharply on the back of her head and everything went black.

* * *

 ** _BAM_**

" _WHERE IS THE DISK!?"_

Tired green eyes blinked lazily up at the ham-fisted suit that had slammed his hands against the small metal table in an attempt to frighten her. Red hair fell into those eyes as there was no hat to keep back the unruly curls.

"I thought I answered that question the first time yeh asked me. I dinnae have it."

"Then where _is it?_ " the man hissed. He was losing his patience.

"That I cannae tell ya, and all this jumpin' 'round playin' bad cop ain't gonna make me talk neither."

By now the man was practically seething with rage. His face was red and his breathing was deep and ragged. The redhead grinned up at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief. She liked to pride herself on being as difficult as she possibly could. The door on the side opened suddenly and another man stepped through, looking rather insistent.

"Pattenson, I need a word with you, if you please."

Pattenson spared the woman one last glare before shuffling out of the small interrogation room after his partner. On the other side of the glass mirror, the two men stared at her as she absent mindedly braided her red curls.

"I told you she wasn't going to talk." the man who was not Pattenson said with a short huff.

"Well what do you suggest we do then? We can't exactly start looking until we have a general location and we don't even have _that_."

The two men shared a glance before looking back at the red haired woman who was now leaning her chair forward and back with bored, glazed look in her eye.

"I think we should call him." Not Pattenson muttered suddenly.

"Are you out of your mind!?" the other man nearly shouted, "He'll think we're complete imbeciles if we can't get a simple location from that woman!"

"I've reviewed her file, Pattenson. She's not going to talk to us anytime soon, so we may as well resolve this with any resources we have, and the only one I can think of is him."

Pattenson eyed his partner with a sharp searching look before letting out a deep sigh and pulling out his phone. He punched a few numbers into it and put it up to his ear, obviously waiting for an answer. As he waited, he sent his friend a short, sharp glare, to which the other man responded with a swift wink.

"Oh-oh yes, hello sir," Pattenson stuttered suddenly, "yes well, actually sir that's what this is about. No-no sir, no damage was done but…she won't talk sir. At least, not to us."

Pattenson was quiet for a time, simply listening to the person on the other end. He cringed every now and again as if the person were shouting at him but eventually he nodded, saying,

"Yes, alright sir I understand. Thank you sir."

He took the phone away from his ear and stuffed it back into his pocket before looking up into the expectant face of his partner.

"He's on his way."

* * *

Small bruised fingers tapped a disorganized rhythm onto the grey metal table and a sigh escaped the lips of the Scottish woman. She had been stuck in the drab little room for hours and she held no hope that she would be released anytime soon.

Her eyes flickered to the mirror on her right, eyeing it suspiciously. She was a veteran of interrogation rooms and knew that on the other side of that glass, the two men watched her. With a smirk, she raised her middle finger to the mirror, followed by a few more obscene gestures, which she found incredibly amusing.

The clean cut government official, who watched, unfortunately did not and a scowl formed on his face.

Just then, the large steel door that kept her freedom at bay creaked open. The large, gruff looking man she now knew to be Pattenson stepped through, handcuffs in hand and a snarl on his face. The woman's eyebrows rose catching sight of the cuffs, but she refused to show her growing anxiety.

"Oh, what're those for, ol' boy?"

Pattenson stayed silent, as he had been instructed by his companion, and crossed the room towards the woman. She bristled when the guard grabbed her wrist roughly, slapping one cuff on her and the other onto the arm of her uncomfortable metal chair.

"Oi, what's this for!?"

A quick smirk formed on the man's face but he did not answer, simply leaving through the door and slamming it shut behind him. A low growl escaped her and she began to tug on the handcuffs, trying in vain to escape them. Finally, she let out a sigh.

"Looks like I'll be havin' to do this the ol' fashion way."

Reaching her other hand into her curls, she produced a small black hair pin, a satisfied smirk now creeping up her face. Removing the tip, she started to bend the pin into the proper shape using her one hand and the top of the table.

Just as she was putting the pin in the lock, the steel door began to creak open once more. Her fingers froze beneath the table and her green eyes shot up, expecting to see Pattenson again. But the man who entered was most definitely not Pattenson.

No, this man was something else entirely, something she could not place. Despite being thinner than Pattenson, this man positively reeked of authority. The look on his face gave off a no nonsense sort of vibe and his long thin fingers were wrapped around the handle of his black umbrella like it was a sword. His auburn hair was slicked back and he pulled off the nose rather well.

"You expectin' rain?" she quipped, her Scottish accent rough and brisk in the presence of the stranger.

The tall man simply smiled a tight lipped smile before pulling a file out from beneath his coat. He idly flipped through it and she turned her attention, albeit discreetly, back to escaping the handcuff.

The hairpin bent in the lock, and she jiggled it, attempting push it upwards within the cuff and release the lock. As she worked, she happened to look behind the well-dressed man and noticed something. The door of the interrogation room, it was still open. The fool had forgotten to close it.

"Margaret Emaline Gladstone."

Her eyes snapped up to meet the man's, somewhat surprised. The man himself peeked over the folder to gauge her reaction, and smiled. If you want something done properly, he thought to himself, one must do it himself.

"Born in Edinburgh Scotland," he continued, "daughter to Aileen and Calum Gladstone, only child, parents died at age 17 in a…. _car accident_."

Margaret scoffed and leaned back in the chair, inspecting her nails nonchalantly, but discreetly eyeing the strange, tall ginger with a wary glare. Her hand fumbled slightly with the pin but luckily for her, he didn't seem to notice, he was once again looking at the file.

"Tell us where the disk is, Miss Gladstone."

A small smirk etched its way up Margaret's face and she looked at the man through her lashes. While the man had much improved manners when compared to the two apes who had questioned her previously, he was still only after one thing.

"I already told yer blue eyed boys, I dinnae have it."

"That much is frightfully obvious," he drawled, placing the folder onto the table and pulling out the chair. He sat down and leant forward, glaring at the small woman.

"Where is it?"

Margaret simply smiled and patted the side of her nose with her finger. A glint of amusement flashed in her eye when the man's scowl deepened.

"You understand that you will not be leaving this facility until you give us the location of that disk."

"Oh aye," she grinned, "but I assure you, it's as safe as houses."

The man simply stared at her, his face serious and eyes hard. He leaned forward, hands intertwined. Margaret followed suit and met his gaze evenly, continuing her work on the cuffs beneath the table.

The man sighed and looked at his hands, "I warn you Miss Gladstone; if you refuse to cooperate I will be forced to-"

 _Click_

The posh man froze, brown eyes trailing up to meet hers. Margaret grinned with her teeth bared. She pulled her legs up so that her feet were on the chair and in a matter of seconds, she pushed herself off. Her boots kicked off the chair and she vaulted onto the table, taking two long strides before kicking out, the toe of her boot connecting with his jaw.

He cried out, the chair crashing to the ground along with him, leaving Margaret with a clear path to and out the door. She hit the ground running and threw herself through the threshold.

" _Idiots_ ," she heard him shout, " _Get after her_!"

Margaret's boots pounded against the tiled floor, her breathing rough and ragged and she heard the distant thump of heavy boots behind her. Of course he had released the dogs on her. Margaret turned her head slightly to look back and counted no more than two large burly men, nearly at her heels.

Skidding around a corner, the small criminal leapt out of their grasp, only to see three more, brawny guards racing towards her from the opposite direction. Eyes widening at their proximity, Margaret reacted quickly, doing the only thing that she could. She ducked.

Without time to notice the change, the guards behind her toppled clumsily over her crouched form, flying into the men in front, sending all five guards sprawling to the floor in a confused pile of limbs.

With a sly grin, Margaret hopped up, jumping over the tangled bodies of the squirming men and continuing down the hall at a light jog. Oh this was too easy. Her feet picked up speed and she raced down hall after hall, all the while picking up confidence and speed.

Until she hit the waxed floor.

Her boots slid wildly under her, and she fought to stay balanced. Because of the speed she had been going, she could not stop as she skidded down the slick corridor, her hands reaching wildly for the wall or anything that would slow her down.

Her finger tips grazed the smooth, stone wall and she let out a sharp shriek as the end of the corridor came into view. An imposing grey wall rose up before her but her feet still slid mercilessly on the slick floor. Finally, her body crashed against the concrete wall and she was on the floor.

Margaret's back ached and she blinked, trying to banish the black spots dancing before her eyes. At last, her eyes focused and she could here the sound of heels against the floor. She tried to move but her body protested, so she lay there, trying desperately to move and the sound of footsteps grew ever closer.

Eventually, Margaret's eyes landed on a pair of expensive Italian shoes right next to her head. The figure crouched down and she found herself staring into the amused face of the man from the interrogation room. His smile was tight and fake but his eyes sparked with something Margaret couldn't place. She was proud however, to see a dark purple bruise forming on his jaw.

"What a merry chase you've led us on, Miss Gladstone." the man simpered, "but I assure you, it will not happen again."

"Aw," Margaret muttered, her voice hoarse, "where's the fun in that?"

A genuine chuckle escaped the man's lips.

"I can tell we'll have a delightful time together, Miss Gladstone."

"Margaret, please."

"Mycroft," he stated thoughtfully, pulling a syringe from somewhere within the depths of his suit jacket.

"Oh, lovely name." she commented, her eyes never leaving his face, "yours or the needle's?"

He smiled and slowly brought the needle to her neck.

"Goodnight, Miss Gladstone."

Margaret felt a sharp sting as the needle broke the skin, and only then did she begin to panic. Her vision began to go dark, but before Mycroft could remove the needle, she herself grabbed it, ripping it from her neck and throwing it away from them.

The Holmes brother called out down the hall and two of the goons from the hallway came into her ever darkening view. Grabbing her arms and lifting her off the floor, she struggled slightly, rather pathetically. She could feel the sedative working through her bloodstream and she glared at Mycroft, who simply raised an eyebrow, his face once again stony.

"I ain't gonna tell you a thing." She slurred.

"Well you never know with these things. I have been told that I can be highly persuasive." He replied, his face not changing.

Margaret scowled but finally, her vision went completely dark and her legs gave out under her. The last thing she saw before going unconscious was the smug look of Mycroft Holmes and she vowed there and then that she'd be the one to smack it off him.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes watched as the woman was dragged down the hall to a more appropriate holding cell. Obviously, he had underestimated her; well his men had underestimated her. With a scowl, he produced a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit on, inhaling the smoke so as to calm his anxiety.

He didn't dare show it, but he desperately needed what was on that disk. How she had attained it, or stolen it was beyond him. A weakness within the security services, he guessed. He would have to bring it up with the Prime Minister.

The woman was something else, Mycroft thought; her gruffness was not something he was used to. He was more concerned with the clean-cut world of high society. While his brother may involve himself with London's underground, Mycroft preferred…not to. But this woman was different.

As he walked back to the interrogation room, he thought back to her file. She'd been on the criminal radar of multiple countries since the death of her parents and not by accident, having been brought up in a vastly influential criminal family. Since their death, she had been on the run, from one family member to another, never staying in one place too long.

Upon re-entering the room, Mycroft grabbed his umbrella, which was leaning up against the wall as well as the file he had left on the table. Leaning against the edge of the table, he flipped it open, scanning through the notes on the woman.

"Impressive," he muttered to himself, eyes searching through the list made of her combat training.

A smirk worked its way up his lips as he thought of it, a master at multiple areas of hand to hand combat, ending up being taken down by a waxed floor. He snapped the file shut, dropping his cigarette onto the floor and crushing it with his foot. Mycroft Holmes swept out of the room, intent on retrieving the information he sought, one way or another.

* * *

 **So ya'll have to tell me what you think, because as I've said before in my other stories, I can never tell if my own writing is good or not. I hope ya'll don't hate me too much. I can only make it up to you in awesome chapters. Again, all my love to you guys.**

 **~U-Hinged**


	2. Interrogation Not Conversation

Margaret's eyes fluttered open and she was met with a bright light, which she immediately shied away from. Her head was still spinning, though the rest of her was horribly stiff and sore. She blinked several times, trying to banish the black spots that danced in her vision. When she could once again see, Margaret noticed the room she was in.

It was dingy to say the least, but one lone bulb swung from the ceiling, casting shadows about the room. She was in a kneeling position on the cold stone floor and, she noticed, her wrists were shackled on either side of her, fastening her to metal rings cemented into the floor.

"Oh, they've got ta be jokin'"

"I assure you, Miss Gladstone, this is not a joke."

Margaret hung her head with a huff, her red hair falling messily about her as the door swung open. She knew that voice, it was the posh fellow she had kicked in the jaw, who then proceeded to sedate her and, she guessed, lock her up in this dingy hole.

Mycroft came around so that he was standing in front of her looking down. Margaret craned her neck up to look at him. He was wearing a new suit, she noticed, which told her it must have been at least a full day since she had been sedated.

While this was not exactly good news, she noticed something else which brought her spirits up. Much to her delight, there was a large purple bruise already formed on his jaw.

"I see yer bruise is comin' in real nice." she quipped, not even bothering to hide her delight.

"Yes well, I have you to thank for that, don't I?" his hand unconsciously went to his jaw and he glared down at the Scottish criminal.

"Yer very welcome," Margaret nodded her head. "Now, onto more important matters, how long are yeh plannin' ta keep me here?"

"That all depends on you, Miss Gladstone." Mycroft said idly, "give us the location of the disk and you're free to go."

Margaret groaned; this again. She was beginning to question their intelligence. What part of _'I ain't gonna tell you a thing'_ did they not understand.

"God's sake, what was on that disk that's got all yer panties in such a twist?"

Mycroft froze, fixing Margaret with a bewildered expression. Margaret met his eyes and her eyebrows rose, waiting for an answer.

"Do you mean to tell me that you are risking your life to keep it hidden and you don't even know what's on it?"

"Ah course not," she answered, feeling suddenly very out of the loop. She squared her shoulders awkwardly, "it was a job for a client, and I didn't bother to look at what was on it. Not my place."

"And you're client would be-?" Mycroft goaded her. Margaret however, knew what he was trying to do and grinned.

"Ever heard of doctor patient confidentiality?"

"Yes," Mycroft answered hesitantly, not sure where this was leading.

"Same basic principle." Margaret grinned, leaning forward and winking swiftly at him.

Mycroft looked down at her, his brows knitting together in what looked to be a look of pity. Margaret didn't like that look, not on him. It made her feel small and definitely not like the accomplished criminal she was. Without another word, he turned on his heel and passed her, going back through the door.

"Oi, where're ya goin'!?"

But she received no answer. The door slammed shut and she was once again left in the silence of the dingy room. Margaret slumped forward, feeling the shackles digging into her wrists as she flexed her numb fingers. She shook her hands, trying in vain to loosen the grip of the metal on her flesh.

When it didn't look as though they would be slipping anytime soon, she sighed and hung her head, prepared to wait out this captivity with as much dignity as she could muster, which admittedly, wasn't much.

…

Margaret had only been locked in that room for about an hour and she was already going steadily mad with boredom, and kneeling in the same position was becoming terribly uncomfortable. In that hour, however she had come to notice the mirror which stood right in front of her and spent a good fifteen minutes wondering how she had missed it.

"Another two-way if I'm not mistaken," she muttered to herself, glaring at the glass, hoping that the posh government man stood behind it bearing the brunt of her glare.

Suddenly the door behind her swung open and Margaret heard the sound of heavy boots on the concrete. Definitely not the light Italian shoes of the posh man.

"Sent in the cavalry, has he?" she shouted over her shoulder, smirking and feeling quite pleased with herself.

Two men came around her, big burly men whom she recognized from the interrogation room. Pattenson and that other man, she remembered. Pattenson looked particularly pleased and the other man simply stood stoically beside him.

"What ho, gentlemen. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Pattenson's smile grew and from his belt he produced a pair of leather gloves, which he immediately put on, his smirk ever growing. Margaret's eyes drifted to his hands and knitted together in confusion.

"What're yeh doin'?" her voice was slightly panicked.

"Orders from on high," he grinned, "and I would be lying if I said I wasn't a tad pleased."

"Wha-"

She was silenced by his fist connecting with the side of her head. She cried out and her head shot to the side. Next, she felt his boot against her stomach followed his fist to her jaw. The other man was stayed silent, standing in the corner of the room watching with a look of disinterest.

"The disk?" Pattenson prodded.

Margaret slowly lifted her head, a grin easing its way onto her face, her teeth red with blood. A giggle escaped her lips and her head lolled back as she stared up at him with wild eyes.

"Do your worst, yeh won't get a word outta me."

And that he did. Pattenson discarded his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, trying to look intimidating. True to her word, Margaret kept silent, taking the beatings like a real trooper.

Though, she would be lying if she said it wasn't terribly uncomfortable, what with the cuffs ripping her arms this way and that every time she moved, which seeing as she was being slapped around, was quite often.

…

Behind the mirror on the wall, Mycroft watched the scene play out before him. He was not alone however. Two other men stood beside him watching the beating of the Scottish criminal.

"So this is her?" one of them asked, their voice tinged with slight disbelief.

"Yes." Mycroft answered simply. He stood with perfect posture and face completely devoid of emotion. His hands he held behind his back and his eyes never left the redheaded thief.

"Got in and out of Downing Street unscathed," the other one mentioned, "how'd you catch her?"

"She was careless." Mycroft responded with an air of indifference. Though, even he began to wonder.

It was common knowledge among those elite few that Margaret Gladstone was one of the most skilled thieves in Great Britain, never getting caught but always being seen. Of course, the general public had no idea who she was and the Crown opted to keep it that way.

But again, that made Mycroft wonder. What could make her so careless as to get caught? Or was she even being careless, was this all part of some elaborate plan? Mycroft had no idea, and he hated it.

…

It had been many hours of rough handling on Margaret's part when the two brutes finally left the small room. She was lying in a heap on the floor, unmoving and breathing already very shallow.

' _Crafty bastards,'_ she thought to herself, they had been smart enough not to rupture anything important but had still managed to make it painful.

Her wrists were raw with the constant pulling of the shackles and she was sure there was a gash on her head because blood kept pouring into her already swollen eyes.

The iron door screeched open behind her and she visibly flinched, all too sure it was those too gorillas back to take another whack at her. But the sound was not one of boots but a soft click. She knew who it was immediately and she was in no mood for it.

"So Miss Gladstone," he drawled, coming to stand in front of her crumpled body, "I do hope we've persuaded you enough."

Margaret couldn't move but she had enough strength left in her to let a soft, wheezing laugh escape her lips. Mycroft looked down, surprised at the woman.

"Something you find funny, Miss Gladstone?"

Margaret, with any strength she had left, which wasn't much, pushed herself off the cold ground just enough so that she was staring up into the stern face of Mycroft. She laughed again.

"Yeh can beat me, yeh can torture me, yeh can do whatever you like with me, but I assure yeh it is nothin', _nothin'_ compared to what I've got in store if I give yeh that disk."

Mycroft's eyebrows rose in question and Margaret grinned up at him; her teeth still red with blood, making her look like some kind of savage. But there was something else on her face, a spark just behind her eyes which Mycroft had seen many a time. Fear.

"We can offer you protection," he pressed, "whoever this client of yours is, we can-"

"No." her voice was small now, barely audible, "no yeh can't. And even if yeh could, I'm not takin' that chance."

She went silent, ignoring the continued goading from Mycroft. She hung her head and slumped forward somewhat in what, to Mycroft, looked like an incredibly uncomfortable position. Mycroft also fell silent when he noticed she wasn't listening anymore. With a sigh, he shuffled his feet awkwardly before heading back through the door.

…

As the door slammed shut behind her, Margaret let out a loud groan, straightening her body and moving her legs, albeit with great difficulty, into a sitting position. She began to breathe deeply, attempting to block the pain she was feeling over her entire body, as she had been taught.

"And ta think, I coulda been in Bermuda about now."

Sitting on the cold stone floor, Margaret's mind was going a thousand miles an hour, thinking through the situation she had gotten herself into. She never should have taken this job; she should have turned tail and ran as soon as she'd met the mad man who'd employed her.

She should have known better. Her Father had taught her, never work for a man you fear, fear makes you anxious and anxiety makes for a sloppy job. That was why she had gotten caught, she was too distracted. A determined looked flashed over her freckled face. She would not let that happen again.

She needed to regain control, escape this dump, grab the disk and deliver it. Once she did that, she'd get paid and be able to get out of England. It had been a mistake to come back at all.

All of a sudden, a sharp pain shot through her body and her breathing quickened. She doubled over, her teeth bared, trying to make no noise. The last thing she wanted was to be given to a doctor only to receive another beating later. She could ride out the pain, she'd had worse.

With a sharp intake of breath, Margaret straightened, eyes shut tightly and hands clenched into fists. When her eyes finally snapped open again, they were set on the mirror in front of her in a dark glare.

…

Mycroft watched the woman from behind the glass, cellphone in hand, and he spoke into it with a soft voice.

"Yes, of course we'll get it back. It's only a matter of time." His voice held a hint of impatience as he spoke. "I suggest you lower your voice, it was not _me_ who allowed the woman to steal the disk in the first place."

Mycroft let out an exasperated sigh, turning from the window. He began to pace, ear still to the phone, and his frown deepening.

"Yes, well if you are so worried about it going public, I suggest you either find yourself a root cellar to occupy for the next forty years, or you allow me to do my job."

With no small amount of annoyance, Mycroft ended the call, but he continued pacing, his jacket left forgotten on the metal table in the center of the room. It wasn't easy being the entire British Government, not when everyone around you was an idiot.

Taking the pack from his pocket, Mycroft lit another cigarette, inhaling the smoke and breathing it out again, in deep calming breaths.

"Yeh know yeh shouldnae smoke those." The redhead's voice came from the speakers in the room, and Mycroft's head shot up, "Yeh'll end up with the black lung."

With a questioning gaze, Mycroft moved from the table to the door, opening it slightly and leaning against the frame.

"How did you-"

"The glass brightened when yeh lit up." She stated simply but not without a smug smile.

Mycroft took another drag from the cigarette, watching her with scrutiny. He entered the room fully now, meandering slowly around the chained Scot. Her body had been thoroughly searched when she had been unconscious, to make sure of no remaining pins or other means of escape.

Because of this, Mycroft saw no reason to close the door, as well; he enjoyed annoying the woman who had made a fool out of him. And annoy her it did, her face going from disbelieving to irritated in a matter of seconds and it was all directed at his moving form.

"You are making this entirely more difficult than it has to be."

"And here I thought yeh wouldnae notice me efforts." Margaret replied with a simpering smile.

Mycroft grimaced, her harsh voice assaulting his delicate hearing. He leaned back against the wall, fixing her with a hard stare. She stared right back, red hair falling into her face. The British Government smirked as she attempted to blow it away, completely breaking the vision of the tough Scottish mobster.

"If you under the impression that you will be getting out of here anytime soon, you are highly mistaken."

"I am willin' ta stay here as long as you are, boss man."

Mycroft opened his mouth to reply when suddenly, the cellphone in his pocket rang shrilly in the small concrete room. Margaret's eyes followed his hand to his pocket and watched him take out the phone, an amused grin on her face.

"Ya know it's rude ta answer your phone when you're in a conversation."

"This is not a conversation," Mycroft sighed exasperatedly, "it is an interrogation."

Margaret shrugged; her face uncaring, "Whatever you wanna call it, boss man."

"Yes," Mycroft answered the phone, rolling his eyes at the woman.

His blasé attitude fell almost immediately, his eyes widening somewhat and snapping towards Margaret. The woman in question shot him a confused look, leaning forward involuntarily.

"I'm sorry but how did you attain this number?" he asked the person on the line, his voice calm and steady.

Whatever was said next made Mycroft swallow anxiously, "Of course." He lowered the phone and fished in his pocket for something.

Margaret watched him produce a small key and, eyes following him as he walked towards her, was incredibly surprised when he unchained one of her wrists, holding the phone out for her.

"It would appear to be for you."

With a suspicious look, she reached out carefully and took the phone from his waiting hand. Bringing the phone to her ear.

"Aye?" she asked uncertainly.

" _Margaret, how are you dear?"_

Margaret's face paled and her eyes met Mycroft's furious ones.

" _Moriarty_." 


	3. A Disk Found

**Okay, so this chapter may be a bit shorter, but it get's the story going. I think three chapters should hold you guys over until I update next which should be soon. I've got my first day of University coming up, so i have that to worry about, but I WILL make time.**

 **Disclaimer: I only own Margaret**

* * *

"H-how did you-" Margaret stuttered, trying to get a handle on the situation.

" _Know where you were? Oh my dear Scottish flower, don't be so naive."_

The redhead scowled, narrowing her eyes hatefully. Working with James Moriarty had been a necessity in this case. He had been the one to find the buyer and he had been the one that supplied the money. At the moment, he had Margaret Gladstone in his pocket.

" _Now dear,"_ the Irish man drawled over the phone, _"I'm not going to beat around the bush here; our third party is growing impatient."_

"Well, our third party can _póg mo thón!_ "

" _Margaret, as much as I love your colorful idioms, I suggest you keep them for when they come to collect you."_

Her eyes widened a fraction, sparkling with fear and it did not go unmissed by Mycroft. He watched the woman pale and stammer, trying to find a foothold.

"C-collect-"

" _I've kept them at bay as long as I could but you know these men, they simply don't understand the time it takes to commit the perfect crime."_

Margaret was silent, her whole body beginning to shake. Mycroft looked on in confusion, his mind already racing with what he would do next. This woman was all new to him, but he knew the human mind, and when it was afraid, it made mistakes.

" _I cannot help you Margaret dear, though I do hope you make it out of this alive, I've grown rather fond of you."_

"Why did yeh call?" she asked finally.

" _To give you TIME. Those heathens won't come looking for you until tomorrow. If you have the disk by then, everyone goes home happy. And of course, I called to annoy the Ice-Man. Was he surprised?"_

Margaret looked up at Mycroft who stood leaning against the wall, arms folded and glaring down at her. She grinned.

"Livid."

" _Ah good, well darling I shall take my leave. Good luck."_

The dial tone rang in Margaret's ear for a good five minutes before Mycroft took it gently from her hand. Only then did she blink, coming back to herself and looking around the room. She cleared her throat and looked up into Mycroft's questioning face.

"What?" she growled, not allowing him to see the inner turmoil she was going through.

"You are working with James Moriarty." It wasn't a question, but more of an accusation.

"Yea, I was."

Mycroft didn't miss her quick response, or her suddenly very jittery behavior. Something had frightened her, or at least made her wary.

"I take it you have some impatient buyers waiting for that disk." He said nonchalantly.

Margaret stayed silent, glaring up at the British Government with venom sparkling in her eyes. Mycroft couldn't help but allow a smile to pass his lips, she was definitely something else. No common sense what so ever, and though she acted loyal he would bet his brother that she would double cross you in a heartbeat if it suited her.

"Miss Gladstone, I know you must be tired of hearing this, but I must ask once more for the sake of my reputation, where is the disk?"

"And I, for the sake of me own reputation, must firmly refuse to tell yeh."

"Very well, Miss Gladstone." He sniffed, primly turning on his heel and out of the room.

Margaret sat crouched on the floor, blowing hair out of her face with a worried expression. Her hand came up; brushing the hair back and she paused, looking down at her un-cuffed wrist. He couldn't have.

* * *

And of course he didn't. Mycroft watched from the surveillance room as Margaret Gladstone worked on the other cuff. It was like watching a master, he was surprised that she could have fit all those lock picks in her trousers.

"Sir, are you sure this will work?" one of the guards asked nervously.

"Of course it will. While Margaret Gladstone is a veteran criminal, her rational mind is under stress. She is afraid, and fear creates mistakes. Self-preservation is her only worry at the moment."

The men watched through the camera which she'd failed to notice, as she broke free of the cuff and hauled herself up, albeit with great difficulty. She hissed in pain as she stumbled towards the door, leaning against the threshold for support.

"You've got to admire her determination though, sir."

Mycroft said nothing, simply watching her. Below, Margaret looked down both hallways, seeing nothing, nobody at all patrolling, or smoking, or doing anything else for that matter. They were empty. Something in her screamed that this was a trap! That she should stay where she was.

Unfortunately, another much larger part of her was screaming _'Oi, get on with it or we're dog food!'_ Up until now, Margaret Gladstone had breezed by the law, never being caught because she had been smart about her clients. About a month ago, she had run out of money.

It had been a God send when one James Moriarty had come to her with a job for a third party. Being foolish and too focussed on the large sums offered to her, she hadn't noticed the big guns and shady alleyway setting when she'd agreed.

Stealing an important government disk from Downing Street? Couldn't be too hard.

Of course, she'd breezed in and out of Downing Street without a problem. It was only when she had gotten the call that she had begun to worry, and by worrying, began to make mistakes. They had called her not long after she had acquired the disk, and being a criminal of many years, she had naturally asked for the money first.

That hadn't gone down well.

Margaret scowled as she limped through the halls. It didn't matter to her if it was a trap or not, she needed to get that disk back, at least to have some leverage over…well over everyone. Her eyes wandered as she went down the hall, and landed on a security camera. So the bastards _were_ watching her.

Well, they were expecting her to go slowly, like the wounded beast she was. What they weren't expecting was her self-destructive nature.

"Catch me if yeh can, Boss man." She grinned, flashing them the bird and taking off running down the hall.

In the surveillance room, Mycroft scowled as she ran. She couldn't be thinking straight, she was internally wounded, if she kept running, she'd drop dead before they got anywhere near the disk.

"Get men on her," he ordered, "but stay a ways away, if she looks like she's about to collapse, move in. We need her alive."

Three guards nodded, leaving the room with Mycroft sweeping after them. Margaret raced down the halls, feeling a stabbing pain in her side and legs and really just her entire body. Her mind screamed at her to stop as did her body, but she couldn't. It was adrenaline keeping her going now and if she were to stop, she would collapse.

Coming to a set of stairs, she hauled herself up, cringing against the pain, climbing up and up until she reached a brighter, sun lit hallway. She raced past the windows, eyes brightening at the sight of a lighted **EXIT** sign and letting out a relieved breath which she hadn't known she had been holding.

Pushing open the large metal door, Margaret squinted, covering her eyes from the sudden brightness. She didn't know how long she had been down there, or what the date was but in that moment, nothing else mattered. She needed to reach the bank.

Mycroft watched as she attempted to hail a cab from the street corner, smirking as each car drove straight past her. Not that he could blame them; she looked as though she'd been involved in a murder. He stopped smiling when he remembered that if he didn't get that disk back, that may just be the case.

Margaret, who had never been good at being patient at any point in her life, growled at the cab drivers who ignored her plight. She didn't have time for this. So, with all the anger and frustration which was building up in her small body, she jumped in front of the next immediate cab.

Slamming her hands down on the hood and grinning at the driver's panicked face; she raced over and threw herself into the back seat.

"Now yer gonna listen ta me." She hissed at the man, "Take me to The Bank of England and yer gonna drive like the bloody devils on yer bumper, get it!?"

The man nodded quickly, slamming his foot on the gas and taking off down the road. He failed to notice the vague yet menacing government vehicles following not far behind. Margaret sat on the edge of the seat, tapping her knee anxiously while her eyes flickered back and forth.

The woman tried to keep awake, her mind clouding over with the pain. Her breathing quickened and the cab driver sent more than one anxious glance behind him.

Mycroft sat comfortably, bordering on lazily, in the back seat of his own vague yet menacing government vehicle, fingers steepled and mind racing, as it always did. He had grown used to it at a young age, never questioning, simply believing that everyone was like that.

Of course, he was quickly proven wrong when he was released unto the rest of the world. As a young genius however, he quickly found things in which to occupy his ever growing free time, including beginning his work for the government.

He had had the fastest ascent through the ranks of the British Government to date, yet not many knew of him. He worked in silence, always behind the scenes. That was where he and Margaret were similar. It was a known fact within the ministry that Gladstone had been a powerful crime family, originally gypsies but had moved up through the world.

Margaret had been trained well, taught to work in the shadows. Sure, she would taunt the bastards in power who knew she existed, but outside of that making oneself known to the public was just too risky. Unfortunately, it seemed she hadn't been trained enough.

The cab pulled up in front of the immense bank and the Scottish thief jumped out of the car, racing towards the looming building and leaving a frightened yet irate cab driver shouting after her.

Her legs felt heavy beneath her and it grew harder to lift them with every step she took. Margaret could feel it, she was about to pass out any moment, pass out and more than likely die from internal bleeding or some hideous thing like that. But not before she got that damn disk.

Mycroft's car pulled up beside the bank, followed by two more vehicles, unloading black clad men with large guns. Mycroft motioned them to stay put, nodding to another man with a much smaller gun to follow him.

They strutted through the courtyard, Mycroft's shoes clicking against the stone. Ahead of them, Margaret raced to one of the desks, breathing fast and clutching her side in agony. The cashier looked alarmed, and was about to call for security when Margaret leaned in, snarling.

"Safe deposit box 2067," she all but wheezed, " _ **NOW!**_ "

The woman behind the desk nodded, gently and quickly reaching beneath her desk and pressing a small button. Outside Mycroft's phone buzzed.

"The bank has been put on alert." He muttered, checking his cell.

The two men walked leisurely up the steps and through the doors. Margaret watched warily as another woman came out from behind the cashier.

"Please follow me." She said, her voice crisp and clear, breaking through Margaret's completely muddled brain.

The woman led her through the twisting hallways and carpeted rooms of the bank. Margaret hobbled after her, leaning against the wall for support. The banker looked back, admitting to herself that this was not the strangest person she had seen in this bank.

"Do you want me to call an ambulance?" She asked calmly.

Margaret shook her head and smiled wryly, "Just need that box, thanks all the same."

By now, Margaret's mind was completely fried, she could not even think straight let alone wonder if she had been followed. The woman finally led her into a large, marble tiled room, and motioned towards a machine sitting on a table.

"Please put your hand on the screen." She said and Margaret complied.

Leaning onto the machine, the screen flickered to life, analyzing her fingerprints one by one. She then removed her hand, allowing it to process her identity. It was a common thing to see, criminals keeping their belongings within banks, and Margaret enjoyed the thought of it, how ironic it was seeing as she stole so much money from banks.

"Just into this booth, ma'am." She finished, leading Margaret into a booth closed off by a red curtain.

Margaret waited inside, constantly moving, anything she could do to keep herself awake and not unconscious on the floor. At last the woman returned, with a metal box and key, unlocking it and placing it lightly on the table in front of her. She looked paler than before, but Margaret took no notice.

With her back facing the curtain, she tore open the box, taking out all the passports and such, and carefully lifting the false bottom, revealing a secret compartment which held nothing but a silver computer disk. Her breath caught in her throat, maybe she would actually be able to get away with this.

 _CLICK_

She froze, her face paling and eyes widening, her breath not returning. She felt the nozzle of the gun against her head and her eyes flickered down to the disk, noticing that her hands were shaking uncontrollably. And that they were beginning to blur.

"How incredibly thoughtful of you, Ms. Gladstone, to lead us to the disk yourself."

Mycroft's posh and clear voice filled her ears and she stumble, her legs suddenly giving out beneath her. Mycroft caught her easily, and she stared up at him with wide, unblinking eyes.

"You made it too easy." He smiled smugly down at her before her eyes fluttered shut.

Mycroft motioned to the other man who spoke calmly into his radio. A small group of medical personnel rushed in, dragging the nearly dead criminal out towards the waiting ambulance. Mycroft spared her one last glance before thinking back to what he had said.

It _had_ been too easy.

What could get a woman with that much experience so anxious that it hindered all logical thought? Mycroft's eyes drifted down to the disk in the box, gently picking it up and placing it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

All of a sudden, something caught his eye. Within the boxes compartment was a small slip of paper. Mycroft took it, examining it and looking surprised at what he found.

"What is it sir?" the guard asked from behind him.

"She has knowledge of The Faction." He muttered, staring at the names and numbers on the paper.

"The terrorist group, sir!?"

Mycroft hummed in acknowledgment, folding up the paper and slipping it into his pocket with the disk. It seemed as though he was not finished his business with Margaret Gladstone just yet.

* * *

 **So a bit short, I know. But now we know things, like Moriarty is NOT the main antagonist in this story, he'll probs be barely in it at all. If you want Moriarty, go to my other story. But The Faction will be the main plot in this story, so if you were worried about how fast the whole getting the disk thing was going, that's not the important thing. The next chapter will have more Margaret/Mycroft encounters and conversations and general getting the story going.**

 **Review and all that! I love ya'll!**

 **~U-Hinged**


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